Too Much Life
by omon
Summary: I see her eyes. I see her smile. I see that one piece of hair that always sticks out in the mornings. I see everything that makes Maura the person she is. The woman that she is. And these little things, these tiny bits of life, they consume me. Rock me to sleep. Give me peace.
1. Chapter 1

By the time I'd seen him, it was too late.

His eyes were black as night as he looked at me from behind a ski mask.

I could feel my heart racing, my pulse beating frantically from inside my chest.

But I didn't yell.

Didn't make noise.

I couldn't risk drawing that beautiful woman out of her house.

Putting her in the line of danger.

In those crossfires.

But I guess I already had, hadn't I.

I saw him reach into his pants and pull a gun.

And the moment I saw it I knew it was too late.

There was nothing I could do.

I shut the mailbox in front of our home and I braced myself.

Ready for the shot.

And when it came, it was loud.

Louder than I thought it was going to be.

I heard it ringing through my ears even after it made contact.

Even after I was gone.

I could feel my body around me, contorted and damaged and in pain.

So much pain.

And all I could think about was her.

Maura.

The love of my life.

I felt the searing, burning pain of the bullet ripping through my skin,

but that pain was nothing compared to the guilt I was feeling, the fear.

I couldn't leave her.

Not yet.

In my haze I hear my name.

I hear her screaming it.

My Maura.

My wife.

I hear the hysteric twinge to her voice and it wakes me.

I open my eyes, because her voice draws me back.

Draws me back to the land of the living.

How ironic, I think.

The Queen of the Dead makes me want to live.

Makes me want to fight.

So I do.

I fight how tired I am.

How cold.

Because if this is how it has to be, I need to see her one last time.

I need to see her face and touch her skin.

I need to close my eyes knowing I've seen her.

Knowing that I've filled myself with her one last time.

I hear her bare feet smacking the pavement as she runs.

Bare feet.

She's not wearing shoes.

Something about that fact makes me nauseous.

I turn my head to find her, see her running, see anything but the blue sky above me.

And there she is.

Bursting through the front doors of our home.

Running and pushing people aside as she comes to me.

I hear her screaming my name.

I hear it tumbling from her lips like it's the only word she's ever known

In an instant she is next to me.

Her hands in my hair.

On my face

Grabbing my shoulders.

They are searching, hungry for me and I can see it in her eyes.

The fear.

The uncertainty.

"Jane," she says.

"Maur," I hear myself respond.

She presses her hands into the wound in my stomach.

Her fingers are trembling.

I can feel them.

I can feel her touch.

It burns hotter than any bullet hole ever could.

"Let go," I tell her. "Stop pressing."

She shakes her head, "Never" she cries.

Her voice is scolding.

Incriminating.

"Don't you let go, Rizolli." I hear Korsak behind her.

Then I am aware.

I'm ware of my partner and my brother.

I'm aware of my mother running towards us.

I'm aware of Tommy holding her back.

In this moment I am clear.

Clear enough to see the future, what it holds.

In this moment I look into her eyes.

Those beautiful, perfect green eyes and I smile at them.

They fly open, wide and alert. "Don't do it, Jane." she says to me. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Maura," I whisper. "Listen."

"No!" she shouts. "You don't need to say anything! Don't _say_ _anything!_"

For a moment I consider listening to her. Shutting up. Doing anything to make sure her eyes can stop watering; her hands can stop trembling.

But I can't.

And I won't.

I pull the last remaining bits of energy together as I reach out.

I touch her face, linger on her cheek before trailing down.

Across her collarbone.

Along the rise and fall of her arm.  
Over each smooth finger that I know so well.

Finally my hand rests comfortably over the swell of her stomach.

The most precious part of her.

The most whole.

Her baby.

Our baby.

"I hope she has your eyes." I say

And then I am gone.

Being pulled backwards into a black hole that seems like it has no end.

Falling farther and farther away from the only person I've ever truly loved.

And as I fall, her voice gets quieter.

Quieter and quieter as I get farther and farther.

The blackness consumes me as I embrace what is coming.

I welcome it.

And as I do I see the face of my wife.

My beautiful wife who didn't deserve this.

Didn't deserve someone who couldn't stay for her.

But it's too late.

Too late to go back and change it.

Too late to go back to that September night, that first kiss.

And even though I want to, even though I knew in that very first moment that this wold eventually happen, I don't regret it.

I don't regret it because I'm too selfish.

Too selfish to have given her up right then.

Too selfish to regret these four years because they have been the best ones of my life.

They have been everything I ever dreamed my life would become.

My life.

_She_ is my life.

She _gave_ me a life.

Every giggle and laugh, every fight and ever tear.

Everything about her is everything I could ever want.

Everything I could ever dream of loving.

I think about her as the doors close behind me.

My time here coming to an early end.

I see her eyes.

I see her smile.

I see that one piece of hair that always sticks out in the mornings.

I see everything that makes Maura the person she is.

The woman that she is.

And these little things,

these tiny bits of life,

they consume me.

Rock me to sleep.

Literally.

Metaphorically.

And I am gone.

Gone with life inside of me.

Too much life.

Too little time.

* * *

**I'm unsure if I am going to continue this story, but I am leaning towards yes.**  
**Review kindly and let me know your thoughts?**

**Blessings**  
**O**


	2. Chapter 2

My throat is burning.

My eyes are burning.

_Everything is burning._

I feel arms wrap protectively around my stomach from behind, holding me back.

I fight them.

Fight them harder than I've ever fought anything in my life.

"Tommy" I whimper. "Please, _please._"

He only holds tighter, draws me to him.

He keeps my feet planted, doesn't let me move.

But he lets me watch.

He lets me see.

They have her on the gurney.

Stretched flat.

There are hands around her, everywhere, touching her.

I want them to be my hands.

They _should_ be my hands.

"They're going to help her." he whispers into my ear. "Let them help her."

The hands rip her shirt open, and the wound is exposed.

I gasp.

Desperate for air.

Desperate for anything but the feelings that I am feeling.

Everything shakes.

_Everything. Burns._

Despite my job, despite all the death I've seen, this is too much.

This is more than I bargained for.

This is going to break me.

I rip away from his arms and double over.

My heart is pounding in my ears.

My stomach is churning.

My mind is racing.

I can't stop the bile that is building in my throat.

It pushes forward until I'm coughing and gasping for air.

Air.

It's all I can think about.

The air that I am breathing, and the air that she is not.

I am gasping.

Gasping for something, anything to bring me back to life.

And then I feel him.

One hand rubs my back as the other holds my hair.

Tommy.

My Tommy.

The only _man_ who has ever truly treated me right;

loved me right.

He is the best brother.

The best friend.

I finally finish heaving and his arms come around me once more.

He helps me to my feet, just in time to see the doors of the ambulance slam shut.

A sob is born from the back of my throat.

He puts his hands on my shoulders, turns me to face him.

He has her eyes.

Suddenly everything is so real, so crisp.

Those eyes look at me from behind thick eyelashes and I realize.

I realize that I may never see them again.

See Jane's eyes.

Hear Jane's laugh.

Feel Jane's heart.

I reach for Tommy, the closest thing I have to her.

But I falter.

My fingers stretch out but fumble.

Trip on the fact that she could be gone.

That this could be it.

I feel my knees buckle from the weight, the pressure.

And he catches me.

He sweeps me into his arms and lets me cling to him.

Lets me wrap his shirt into my fists.

Lets me cry into his shoulder.

"Relax, Maura. Try and relax."

How can I relax?

How can I ever be calm again?

Suddenly there is a flutter within me.

A rolling sensation that comes along with being pregnant.

Being filled.

I feel it, feel her.

And I know Tommy feels it too, because he goes stiff.

"You're going to be okay." He whispers.

I'm not sure who he's talking to, who he's trying to convince.

But it's enough.

Enough to make me breathe.

Make me find the air that I so desperately need.

* * *

When we finally reach the hospital, she is in surgery.

I'm sitting in a chair.

A stupid hospital chair that is so painfully uncomfortable.

But I don't care.

People walk around me.

Sit next to me.

Try and hold my hand.

But I can't feel them.

I see them, though.

I see Angela reach out to me and pull me in.

I see the tears glistening in her eyes.

On her cheeks.

But I don't feel her.

I don't feel anything but numbness.

I fix my eyes on the wall in front of me and do not move.

Do not look.

Because the moment I focus on this family, I will lose it.

The moment I look into the eyes of my pretend mother, my Angela, my heart will melt.

And it will never heal.

Her hand is on the back of my neck, rubbing, soothing.

She is bent forward, looking into my eyes.

But I do not look back.

"Maura." she is begging. "Maura_ please_."

Angela's breath hitches in her throat as my name tumbles painfully from her lips.

I wish I could help her.

I wish I could love her properly.

But I don't know how.

Everything inside of me is tired, exhausted.

And the baby will not stop moving.

She will not settle down.

And it is scaring me.

She kicks hard into my ribcage and it makes me jump, knocks the wind out of me.

I rub circles across my stomach, trying to soothe her.

Nothing is working.

Suddenly, Angela covers my hands with her own, traces my movements as I continue soothing, loving.

My breath hitches in my throat and I gasp once more as her feet connect with my ribs.

"She wont stop," I breathe.

They're the first words I've spoken since the shot.

Since my Jane.

And I speak them just loud enough so that only Angela can hear.

"Do you want me to call a doctor?" she questions.

Finally, I turn and meet her eyes.

They are big and brown and just hard enough to keep me grounded.

Hold me in place.

I nod.

My bottom lip trembles.

Then she stands, and is gone.

* * *

Two hours later and I am in a wheel chair.

And Jane is out of surgery.

"Stay off your feet." my doctor had told me. "Try not to stress."

I almost laughed in her face.

People come in and out of her room like clockwork.

Doctors come to check her pulse.

Read her chart.

Ask me if I'm okay.

The answer is always no, but I'd never say that.

Never out loud, at least.

Angela sits with me, behind me, just out of sight.

She has yet to leave my side.

Yet to stop worrying.

"Maura," she calls my name, gentle and soft.

"Maura, please can you talk to me?" I hear her voice shaking. "I need to get out of my head."

I nod. "Okay."

I look down at my wife and I feel tears burning my throat.

But I push them away.

My left hand is laced with right, fingers intertwined.

I wish hers would hold mine back.

But they don't.

They stay limp.

I stretch my fingers outward and my ring catches the light from the window, casting rainbows on the walls.

"What do you want me to talk about?" I ask.

"_Anything._" She responds.

I could talk about Jane, but that's too painful.

I could talk about science, but it'll just make her more nervous.

"Anything," she repeats once more, so quiet I almost don't hear it. I'm not sure if she even knows she said it.

"Once," I begin. "When I was seventeen, I had this hamster.

I'd had him for two months exactly. His name was Edison."

"Why Edison?" She asks quietly.

"Thomas Edison." I explain quickly. "He invented the lightbulb."

I hear her soft giggle and it spurs me forward.

"I was living in my dorm at BCU that year... I had no one to talk to. And when I got home that summer, my parents were traveling through Europe.

And still, I had no one to talk to.

So I got this...hamster.

This dumb hamster that was secretly a little escape artist.

And all I could think about was how stupid it was for him to keep running.

Keep fleeing.

It's not like he was going to _get_ anywhere.

But every few days I would return to my room and he would be gone."

I shake my head, run my free hand through my hair.

I don't know where this story is going, but I continue.

"And then eventually, after he'd escaped again, I never found him.

He was just gone.

Still, to this day, I have no idea where he went.

I liked to think that he somehow got outside and was living happily in the wild.

But I could never be sure.

And after that, I spent almost every single day of that summer alone.

By myself.

I bought that hamster to keep me company; to be my friend.

But he didn't want that.

He wanted to do _anything_ but stay with me."

I feel tears burning the back of my throat once more as I get closer and closer to the point that I didn't even realize I was making.

"And that's when I realized something.

I realized that I was better off on my own, where people couldn't just do that.

Couldn't just walk in and out of my world.

I kept my distance from everyone, making acquaintances, but never friends.

I'd had a few boyfriends, but eventually they left too.

And I got used to it.

I got used to being unwanted.

Lonely.

And I lived every day from that day forward expecting everyone to walk away.

To not want to stay.

_And then I met Jane._

And she changed all of that

Even before we were together. Before we fell in love.

She was my friend.

The only one I ever had.

And even though she had every reason to turn and walk away, she never did.

And I don't know why...

Maybe I never will.

But all of a sudden, I found myself trusting her; believing her when she promised to never leave.

And every broken part of me healed.

And I stopped waiting for the hat to drop.

Stopped waiting for her goodbye."

Suddenly there are hands on my shoulders.

I turn and Angela is there, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Maura,"

She says my name again, as she has done so many times today.

And I respond.

"I love her, Angela."

She nods.

I choke back the hurt that is building inside of my chest.

"I love _you_, Angela."

With that she is beside me, pulling me to her.

And I let myself go.

I finally let myself sink into the arms that have been waiting patently for this moment all day long.

And it feels good.

It feels like home.

Then, like magic, there is movement beside me.

There are trembling fingers and trembling breaths.

And that hand.

The hand that I had been staring at,

waiting for a response from,

finally gave me that response.

That beautiful hand with the crescent shaped scars twitched,

and stretched,

and finally,

_finally, _

held mine back.

* * *

**Thank you for your lovely reviews.**  
**I hope this is living up to your expectations.**  
**Feedback is _always_ appreciated.**

**Blessings**

**O**


	3. Chapter 3

**You guys are all unbelievably wonderful.**

* * *

Two weeks.

Two weeks of recovery.

Two weeks of rehabilitation.

Two weeks of sensitivity training.

In total, eight weeks.

Eight weeks of absolute torture.

But within these eight weeks of extreme physical pain,

there was eight weeks of time off.

Eight weeks spent fully and totally with the love of my life.

With my blonde bombshell of a medical examiner.

And I couldn't be happier.

I'll never forget the look on her face when I came to.

Never forget the way her lips met mine.

I had opened my eyes and she was there,

back turned to me

face buried in my mothers shoulder.

She had been holding my hand, and the only reason I noticed was because she was squeezing it so hard.

So I squeezed back.

And as she turned to look at me, eyes wide and mouth wider, I swore I'd never seen anything as beautiful in my life.

And now here we are.

Eight weeks later into my recovery.

Eight weeks further into her pregnancy:

Twenty-nine of them to be exact.

Today will mark thirty.

I hear her call my name from the bedroom, and after I splash water on my face once more, I return to her side.

"Good morning." I say to her. "Rise and shine."

She stretches her arms, resting them behind her head.

I lean down and place kisses to her lips,

her cheeks,

her forehead.

I only stop when her giggle makes my heart jump.

"Can we do something today?" she begs.

I wiggle my finger at her. "You know what the doctor said, Maura."

She sighs. "Yeah, I know."

Six weeks ago we had the scare of our lives.

It had been a Sunday.

A normal, regular Rizzoli dinner Sunday.

We'd all been sitting in the living room, watching the game.

My arm was round her shoulder.

Her hand was on my thigh.

Then all of a sudden, her fingers clamped around my leg.

Her back shot up straight and she hissed in a breath.

Immediately, everyone's attention was on her.

"Maura," I breathed. "Maur, what's wrong."

Her brows were furrowed, knit together in some horrifying blend of confusion and pain and fear.

_So much fear._

She opened her mouth to speak, but just as she did, another contraction hit her and the noise that came out of her made my blood curdle.

It made my heart stop.

Immediately everyone was on red alert.

I called the hospital to let them know we were on our way.

Frankie got the car running, opening the door as Tommy slipped into the back with her in his arms.

I slid in beside them, my hands on her knees, supporting.

My mom sped the entire way there.

In the end, the doctor had stopped the early labour.

But she asked Maura to stay in the hospital overnight for observation, and the next morning, she put Maura on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy.

And now here we are, at thirty weeks, and my girl is restless.

_Both_ of my girls are restless.

"All she does is squirm around." Maura says. "She's going to be just like you."

I laugh, run my hands over the smooth skin of her belly.

"Like mama like baby." I say.

I lean down and press my lips to her forehead, then press them once more to her mouth before lifting the covers around us.

"Tell me about her." I say.

I know she loves when I let her do this; when I actually _request_ for her to use her google brain.

"Well," she begins, eyes sparkling with excitement. "We're at thirty weeks. That means she's got tastebuds. And she has fingerprints and footprints. She has hair growing on her head, too. Isn't that interesting?"

I nod, completely in awe of this perfect creature in front of me.

This perfect woman.

"She has a sleep cycle- that one I can personally testify to. She normally sleeps when I'm walking around and doing things because the movements feel like rocking. When I'm still is when she's awake, because she isn't being lulled to sleep by anything."

"Can you actually feel that?" I ask, amazed.

She nods.

"I can feel everything."

She looks down to her swollen belly and smiles, running the tips of her fingers over the skin she finds there.

"It's so strange, Jane. I don't even know her and I love her. I've never even seen her face and I already know that I'll never be able to look at it long enough."

I nod.

"She's is going to be beautiful." I say. "She already _is_ beautiful."

And with that she leans over and kisses me.

Deeply.

Whole heartedly.

"You're beautiful." I whisper.

"Oh yeah?" She asks, something dark and playful in her voice. "Why don't you show me just how beautiful you think I am then, detective."

And I do.

Oh, do I ever.

* * *

Night falls and the day comes to a close and all I can think of is sleeping.

Turns out, spending my days playing fetch for a pregnant woman is tiring.

But she is wide awake.

And by wide awake I mean _wide. a. wake_.

So we are sitting at the island.

And my mother is animatedly talking about her problems at the cafe.

And she is laughing.

And I can not stop watching her.

She turns to meet my gaze and she smiles shyly at me.

A pink blush spreading down her neck and disappearing under the collar of her shirt.

She is _blushing._

Because of _me._

I never thought I could be the kind of woman who could make Maura Isles _blush_.

But I did it.

And I never want to stop.

Suddenly there is a knock at the door and she looks at me, worried.

I stand up and move towards it, but before I get close, her hand is on my arm.

"Stop," she warned. "I will get it."

"Maura." I protest. "Don't be ridiculous."

My eyes flash to the time on the microwave and that's when I realize it's 11:30pm.

"Nothing good can come from a knock at this time of night, Maur. Sit back down."

Before I know it, she is standing in front of me, blocking me.

"Relax." she says, hand pressed to my abdomen. "Just relax."

The urgency in her tone mixed with the stern look in her eyes makes me back down.

I drop my hands to my side.

"Fine, but I'm opening it with you."

She nods, but I can tell she doesn't like it.

Ever since my shooting, she's been nervous.

Nervous every time I step outside the threshold of our home.

Nervous every time I'm just out of her reach.

She moves towards the door and pulls it open, and when her breath hitches in her throat, I am behind her, pulling the door wider so I can see who's there.

"Ian," his name tumbles from her lips.

My heart jumps in my chest.

All of a sudden he is inside our house and putting his arms around her.

Lifting her off the ground.

Holding her close to him.

Every part of my body is pulsing, my heart beating frantically inside my ears.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you." he mumbles into her hair.

I hear her giggle.

She actually _giggles_.

And for a moment I think I might spontaneously combust.

I clear my throat and he puts her down.

She steps back and opens her arm to me, gesturing.

"You remember Jane." She says to him.

Her voice is breathy.

Her face is flushed.

And all too quickly I remember who this man is.

Remember who he is to _her_.

He stretches his hand to me and I shake it.

I'd rather break it in half.

But I hold myself back. _Just chill out Rizzoli._ I tell myself.

Then she invites him inside for tea.

And that's when I realize that I am one hundred percent _not_ chilled out.

Maura leads into the kitchen where my mother is of course delighted to see him.

How typical.

How _annoying_.

"Maura," he says from across the island. "You really are glowing."

_She blushes._

And I feel my ears heating up.

No one but me should be making her blush.

No one but _me_ should have that kind of access to her mind.

That kind of access to her _heart_.

"Thank you, Ian." she responds all chipper. "I truly do feel wonderful. We're very excited."

She stretches her hand out to meet mine across the marble top but I pull back.

I am so. unbelievably. angry.

"I'm going to bed." I mumble quickly.

I wave my mother off as she tries to follow me, insisting I just need to sleep.

I climb the stairs two at a time.

Everything inside of me is screaming for me to go back down there.

How could I be up here when she'd down there.

With _him_.

I pace back and forth in the bedroom, trying to hear everything that I'm missing.

I hear the back door open, and then close.

My mother is gone.

And now it's just them.

Alone.

I press my ear to the cool wood of the bedroom door and wait.

I hear a mumbled "It was lovely too see you." and another "We must visit once more before you leave."

They exchange pleasantries, and even though I know I'm being irrational, I can not help it.

I can't change the jealousy rising in my throat and the anger that comes along with it.

Then I hear something else.

Something that makes my heart stop dead in my chest.

"I'm sorry about Jane." she says as she opens the door.

She is apologizing for me.

Apologizing. for. _me_.

"It's not a problem. I understand." He responds. "If I were her, I wouldn't want me around either."

And. then. she. laughs.

_Laughs_ like it's totally normal.

Like she's been laughing at him all her life.

And for a scary second, I remember that she _has_.

She's known him longer than she's known me.

She's _loved_ him for longer than she's loved me.

And it makes my heart ache.

There is a silence and I know he is hugging her.

I can almost feel the touch of his hands on her skin.

The door slides shut and I listen as she locks it.

I count each thick click of the locks, making sure she gets them all.

Then I move away from the door, stepping backwards until my calves hit the edge of the bed and I sink into it.

My elbows on my knees.

My head in my hands.

And my heart on my sleeve.

* * *

**Thank you for your lovely responses to this story.**  
**I hope I can continue to elicit the same response with the coming chapters.**  
**Your input is always appreciated.**

**Blessings **  
**O**


	4. Chapter 4

He steps close to me and I feel my heart rate increase.

_What is he doing._ I think to myself. _Why is he so close._

He reaches out a tentative hand and pushes a curl away from my face.

He tucks it behind my ear.

His fingers brush the skin on my cheek and I feel myself shiver.

He steps closer once more, leaning in to pull me to him.

But I jerk back.

Pull away.

Push him off.

"Ian," I say, my pulse rapid in my ears. "What are you doing."

He hangs his head, voice quiet, eyes glassy.

I see the battle he is waging within himself and it breaks my heart.

Regardless of the way my life turned out, I will always care for him.

That's not something that can just be turned off; forgotten.

"I miss you." he says.

My heart literally stops in my chest.

These words.

These words that I waited so long to hear from him.

They throw me off.

Catch me off guard.

Mix me up.

There was a time when they would have sent me spinning; made me dizzy.

But not now.

Not anymore.

I wish there was a way to tell him these things without hurting him.

I wish I could reach out and comfort him in the way I know he needs to be comforted, but I can't.

And to be quite honest, I don't think it's fair for him to expect me to.

"You missed your chance." I say, my voice is so quiet I'm not even sure if I said it out loud.

He nods.

Runs his hand over his face.

"It was lovely to see you, bella mio." he breathes.

The use of the old Italian pet name makes my heart ache in a familiar way.

And that is exactly the problem.

This hurt is familiar.

He _made it _familiar.

I nod, and run my hands subconsciously over my rounded stomach.

"You as well."

He smiles a weak smile at me and I feel guilty.

I feel so guilty that he feels so guilty.

"I'm sorry about Jane." I say feebly. "She's just really protective."

He laughs a laugh that sounds like pure nostalgia.

"She is good for you, Maura." he says. "She loves you."

I nod. "I love her."

He nods too.

This whole encounter seems to be quickly becoming a mixture of fake nods and forced smiles.

But I guess that was inevitable.

Old flames never die easy.

They burn out with a hiss and a crack and leave both people wondering.

Both people different; scarred.

And in the flames of that old love there are so many things.

So many mixed feelings.

So many what if's and maybes that make you wonder.

Make you nostalgic for the way it could have been.

He turns to walk away, but just before he does I call him back.

"Ian." I say. "Thank you."

His eyebrow cocks up, confused. "For what?"

"For giving me up."

He laughs again, and I realize that this is the last time I'll ever hear it.

Hear his laugh.

But somehow, it doesn't bother me.

Because as I hear the sound of his smile rising and falling, I also realize that I'd rather be hearing Jane's.

His deep rumbling laugh doesn't even hold a candle to her light airy one.

Not even a match.

"If you had stayed- if you had convinced me to come to Africa with you, I would have never found Jane. I would have never found the happiness that I did."

He nods and crosses his arms over his chest, urging me to continue with a swoop of his eyes.

"She loves me, Ian. She _stays_ for me. And you..."

I trail off, not wanting to say the words that I'm thinking.

But he hears them.

He hears them without me even needing to open my mouth.

"I didn't stay for you."

I shake my head.

"No, you didn't."

"Maura," my name from his lips is like water. "Be happy."

I reach my hand out and grab his with my own, squeezing it gently before letting it fall back to his side.

"You too."

He hugs me, and his classic Ian scent overcomes me one last time.

Then he turns and walks from me.

Walking from my house to a world where I no longer exist in correlation to him.

And I realize that I am okay.

I am satisfied.

This goodbye is just like every other.

Except this one isn't leaving me broken; shattered.

Every other moment him and I ever shared ended with me watching his back as he walked away.

Leaving me with nothing.

But not this time.

This time, _I_ am the one leaving _him_ with nothing.

And I am the one standing here with _everything_.

I am the one closing the door.

Saying goodbye.

Because this time I am doing something for myself.

I am choosing happiness.

_I am choosing Jane._

And I think, that somewhere inside of me, I always was.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I've been choosing her all along.

I let him walk away, because I knew something better was coming.

_Someone_ better was coming.

And she did.

And she is everything I ever dreamed she'd be.

* * *

I quietly place small round dishes into the drying rack next to the sink and wipe my hands clean.

Above me, I hear Jane walking to and from, going about her nightly routine.

It's late.

So late

And I am so tired.

I ascend the stairs slowly, gripping the railing hard as the tightness in my lower back decides to get tighter.

After today, after everything, all I want to do is see her.

Feel her.

Fall asleep tucked into her.

I push our bedroom door open and hear the water in the bathroom running steady.

I change quickly, taking in the contents of our bedroom

Our life.

Gently I pick her teeshirt up from the ground and fold it.

And I've never been so happy about folding anything in my entire life.

I look around me and realize how current she is.

How alive.

My home vibrates with the presence of this other woman and it fills me so completely.

So finally.

And I smile.

Right then, she emerges from the bathroom, light spilling into the otherwise dark room.

"Hey," I say, my voice all breathy and excited.

God, she is so beautiful.

She doesn't respond, only stands there, in the light of the doorway, looking at me.

Her gaze makes me squirm.

I place her shirt down on the dresser and take a step closer.

She takes a step back.

"Jane?" I call to her, worried. "Is everything okay?"

The look on her face is sending anxiety up and down my spine.

She shakes her head.

"Why don't you tell me."

Her tone is court, angry.

My heart is _pounding_.

I open my mouth to speak but close it immediately.

I have no idea.

"Oh what, Miss-know-it-all is finally at a loss?" she spits.

"Jane?" I question, suddenly shocked and awake. "What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_?" she shouts. "What's wrong is that my wife practically ripped her clothes off in front of another man down there, Maura!"

"Wh- what are you talking about?" My voice catches and breaks.

Stuttering.

I can hear my frantic tone and it makes me sound so weak.

So pathetic.

"And then, to make it even worse, she comes up here all smiley and giddy like a little school girl."

"That's not even a little bit true." I tell her.

I feel confusion rising within me, and with it, comes a tiny droplet of anger.

I am dizzy.

So dizzy with fear and anger and confusion.

And something else.

Something soft and nagging.

Something kicking and pulling and squirming in the pit of my stomach.

"Of _course_ it isn't! Of _course_ he just showed up at our house. Of _fucking_ _course_ you had to apologize to him for your lower class wife who is _clearly_ so below him. So less _qualified_ to be with you."

"That's not true!" I yell, the white hot fury building rapidly in my chest. "I didn't even know he was in town!"

She laughs, a maniacal, cynical, angry laugh that makes my blood turn to ice.

She takes a step towards me, and my heart pounds harder than it's ever pounded before.

For a moment, I forget what it is to breathe

For a moment, I feel like my chest is going to rip open.

My stomach going to combust.

It might as well.

She points her finger at me as she comes closer, closing the distance faster than I would have liked.

I back up, moving away from her as she just continues getting closer.

"You were happy to see him." she growls. "You're glad he came back for you."

"He didn't come back for me," I spit. "He came back to come back. It has nothing to do with me."

My back hits the wall and I have nowhere left to go.

I'm trapped in.

Caged.

"Do you still love him?" She whispers.

It is so quiet but so powerful.

So heated.

So. damn. mad.

_"Of course not." _I gasp. "It's you. It's always been you."

My mind is a battlefield, my heart so full of some kind of hybrid emotion that doesn't make any logical sense and it scares me.

The love of my life is questioning if I love her.

How is that even possible?

How could she ever think that I don't?

"I do not believe you, Maura."

She doesn't believe me.

She. doesn't. trust. me.

Her words are so precise, so measured.

It feels like a slap in the face.

A punch in the gut.

I don't want to fight.

I don't want to yell.

I ball my hands into fists ad dig my nails into my palms.

Everything inside me is going crazy.

And _she_ will not stop squirming.

Will not stop kicking her feet into my ribcage.

And it _hurts_.

"Just go to bed," I breathe. "You're all flustered and angry. You'll be clearer in the morning." I tell her.

My voice is shaking.

I want more than anything to stop.

To sit.

To breathe.

I _can. not. breathe._

She shakes her head and pulls away, simultaneously slamming her fist into the wall across from me.

The fury in her eyes is unbelievable.

It is though I can practically taste the venom she is spitting at me.

"Stop treating me like a child!" she bellows, voice dark and angry and unsure.

"Then stop acting like one." I yell back.

Then something snaps.

Metaphorically.

_Literally_.

I see her mouth moving but I don't hear the words.

Because I am feeling something else.

Something other than the fear pulsing through my veins.

Something other than my heart beat racing in my ears.

Something other than the blinding anger making my chest tight.

No.

What I feel is worse.

Much worse.

At first it was soft. Soft and gentle and innocent.

But every little bit as evil.

Every little but as disgusting.

Like a rope being pulled, seized from within me.

Suddenly, I gasp at the cramping.

The tugging.

I reach my hand out to find something solid to catch me as I feel my knees go weak.

And then she is there.

Her hands under my arms.

Breathing my name down my neck.

I hear her asking me what's wrong.

Where it hurts.

_Everywhere_, I want to say.

Somewhere outside the realm of my understanding I can her someone shreiking.

Someone making the kind of noises that should not even exist within the human body.

The kind of noises that sound like pain itself has been given a voice.

A platform.

And then I realize.

I realize with a swift kick that they're coming from me.

I'm the one screaming.

And then the pain consumes me.

Swallows me whole.

Puts

me

to

sleep.

* * *

**I love you all more than words can even describe.**  
**Thank you for your feedback, and I look forward to hearing more.**

**Blessings**  
**O**


	5. Chapter 5

The look on her face physically makes me want to be sick.

She stumbles forward, and everything inside me freezes.

I forget the words that were just recently burning my tongue.

I forget the anger that had taken hold of me so forcefully.

And all I can feel is concern.

Worry.

Fear.

Fear that burns hotter than any other thing ever could.

The kind of fear that makes you forget your own name.

She braces herself on the dresser and her eyes slam shut.

Her breath hitches in her throat.

I move forward, reaching out to her.

"Maura," I plead. "Maura, what is it?"

I speak but she doesn't hear me.

I don't even think she remembers me.

I watch helplessly as her eyebrows knit together, her mouth falling open to release a strangled cry for help.

The next thing I know her knees are going weak and I lunge for her, catching her under the arms.

I bring her to me as we sink to the ground.

I draw my lips to her temple as I reach down into her pocket for her cell phone.

She is trembling.

Shivering.

Vibrating with some kind of force that I can not name.

Her arms are clutched around her midsection, as if holding on for dear life will make the pain stop.

I dial the hospital and they inform me that they're sending an ambulance.

Then I call my mother.

Because I don't know what else to do.

She is burning hot in my arms.

The heat from her body ripping through my skin.

"Jane," She whispers, her voice strangled and tight and tortured. "Jane, there's something wrong."

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to comfort her.

I can feel my own fear seeping through my bones.

I feel my heart pounding out of control, directly in tune with hers.

All of a sudden she goes stiff in my arms and it knocks the wind out of me.

"Maura," I beg. "Maura, just _breathe_."

How hypocritical; I haven't taken a breath in what feels like hours.

One of her hands finds my own and she squeezes it as she loses herself.

Her breath comes in bursts and her eyes roll back into her head.

Her mouth opens.

Her brows crease.

And she cries out.

And that's when I realize.

She's having contractions.

The next thing I know my mother is by my side

and she is pushing me aside as she scoops Maura to her breast.

She looks at me, eyes wide with confusion. "What happened?" she cries.

I shake my head.

My own eyes mimicking the tortured fear I'm seeing in hers.

"I don't know," I say back. "One minute she was okay and then the next she wasn't!"

I crawl closer and Maura looks into my eyes, stretching her fingers out to meet mine.

I lean my head down and press my forehead to hers.

"Stay with me." She breathes. _"Stay with me."_

I do.

I can't leave her.

My mother releases her and I am close.

Drawing her into me.

Rubbing my hands deep into her back as she squirms with discomfort.

Trying my best to take it away.

Trying my best to soothe the heat building in her body.

I never want to let her go.

Never want to hand her off.

All I want to do is sit here with her and make her better.

It should be my job.

To fix her.

Because I'm the one that did this.

I broke her.

My fault.

Me.

* * *

We are in a hospital waiting room.

The paramedic refused to let me in the ambulance with her.

Refused to let me hold her hand.

Keep her grounded.

And he took her.

So now I'm here.

Waiting in the hallway outside her door.

I hear the doctor's mumbled words and Maura's quiet responses.

I can tell they gave her medication.

I can tell because she's so quiet.

She's hardly spoken at all.

I hear pounding footsteps behind me and when I turn, I see my brother.

"Jane," He calls to me, his eyes frantic. "What happened?"

He reaches me and pulls me into him.

I smell carpet and lumber and paint.

I smell everything that makes Tommy Tommy.

I feel my little brother hold me tight and for a moment I lose myself.

For a moment, I'm a little girl.

I am small and vulnerable and delicate in in his arms.

Here, the world can't hurt me.

In his arms, I am protected. Guarded.

"I don't know, Tommy." I say into his chest. "They wont let me see her."

His hands work up and down my back, rubbing calmness into my skin.

"I just want to see her."

He nods, and lays his cheek on the top of my head.

"You'll see her soon."

I peek out from behind his arm and look around the room.

My mother is here, and Frankie is here, and Korsak and Frost.

All of us are here.

For her.

And we're all scared.

More scared than I can remember ever seeing them.

And that's when I realize.

These people, these family members, they were here for me too.

They sat in these same chairs.

With these same looks on their faces.

Except last time, I was the one on the other side of the door.

I was the one who put that look on their faces.

I was the one who got too deep into a case and ended up getting tagged.

I was the one who disrupted our little family breakfast.

Me.

My fault.

I silently send up a prayer to a God that I'm not even sure I believe in.

To one that I _know_ Maura doesn't believe in.

But I do it anyways.

I need some kind of reassurance that things are going to be okay.

I look out to my family who loves me.

And I feel so guilty.

So guilty to be the source of this pain.

This evil.

I think of my wife.

My Maura.

Who is hurting because of me.

Who is in a hospital bed, in a gown, on medication.

All because of me.

My fault.

Mine.

And I can't shake the feeling.

Above me I feel Tommy shift and pull back just far enough to look into my eyes.

"Stop doing that, Janie." He whispers, just loud enough for my ears to hear. "Stop beating yourself up about it."

I shake my head. "I did this."

"No." he says. Firm. Confident. "No one did this."

"What if-" my voice catches in my throat. "What is one of them doesn't make it."

I can't bring myself to say the actual words.

_Newborn. Child. Infant. _**_Baby._**

_Death. Gone. Loose. _**_Forever._**

He squints at me, and it feels like he's burning through me.

Looking into the place that hurts the most.

"Don't say those words, J." he warns. "Don't even think them,"

Then, finally, her door pushes open.

Her doctor steps through it and looks around our little crowd.

Our little collage of a family that has come together so flawlessly.

So brokenly.

But so fully.

So whole.

"Dr," I begin, stepping towards this blonde woman whose eyes make me think of the ocean.

She reaches out and places her hand on my arm, looking at me with those ocean eyes and for some reason, making me feel calm even though my mind is racing so fast I can't even keep track of it.

"You can go in now, Mrs. Rizzoli. She's waiting for you."

I nod, feeling the tears burn the back of my eyes.

"Is she okay?"

The woman shakes her head. "Not yet. But she will be."

My heart sinks.

Sinks so low that I'm not even sure it's in my chest anymore.

I nod.

"Thank you." I say, before pushing that door open and stepping into the threshold of our future.

The rest of our lives.

And I know.

This is my fault.

Me.

Mine.

_Forever._

* * *

**I promise, the sunshine is coming.  
Your responses continue to make my day.**

**Blessings**  
**O**


	6. Chapter 6

My doctor is pretty.

And she is blonde.

And for the life of me I cannot remember her name.

But I know that it's kind of weird.

Kind of different.

And I like that.

She finishes explaining and she smiles.

She is so nervous.

I feel so bad for her.

"Dr Isles, please know that we are doing our best to make this comfortable for you."

I try to smile at her but I'm not sure if it worked.

I open my mouth to ask but she knows what I want before I say it.

"I'll go get her." she assures me.

And I am so thankful not to have to speak.

Because I'm not sure what will come out if I do.

She opens the door and walks out, and for a split second I see them.

I see her.

My Jane.

My detective.

Who is tucked neatly into Tommy's shoulder.

Jane.

Whose eyes are wide and afraid and so unlike her.

Jane.

Whose guilt is written into every line on her porcelain face.

Jane.

Who I'm not sure is worthy of that guilt or not.

But it's her.

It's my Jane.

And seeing her is putting air into my lungs.

It's making me breathe.

I open my mouth to call her name but just as I do, the door swings closed and she is gone.

They are gone.

And even though I know they are still right there behind the cool wood of the door,

I still feel alone.

Shut off.

Closed away.

I reach down and smooth my hands over my stomach.

"Come on, baby." I murmur. "Just one wiggle for mama."

I wait and there is no response.

I lean my head back on my pillow and close my eyes.

Darkness.

So soothing.

So calm.

I listen to the steady clicking of the machines next to me.

I breathe in, it beeps.

Breathe out, beeps again.

In and out like a pattern.

A rhythm.

I trace my fingers over the skin on my stomach.

Up.

Down.

Up again.

I can still feel the stickiness of the gel they used for the ultrasound.

I squeeze my eyes tighter.

Remember that sound too.

It was quick.

But it was there.

It was real.

One thump.

Then another.

A heartbeat.

Not mine.

Hers.

And my heart flooded.

My eyes watered.

For a split second I could see through the tightness in my chest and the tugging in my belly because she was alive.

Her heart was beating.

The door pushes open once more but I do not open my eyes.

I stay back.

Stay closed.

Stay away.

She steps closer to me and breathes heavy.

I can almost taste her tears as they are approaching.

"Maura," my name falls from her as if it in itself is a damaged thing.

My eyebrows crease as her voice draws my own emotion out from the back of my throat.

I know she can see it.

I know she knows I can hear her.

She moves closer, perches on the edge of the bed.

She looks down at me and I press my lips together.

Gently she slips her fingers over top of my own, pulling them from the skin on my stomach to the skin on her cheek.

It is wet.

She holds them there.

She turns them over and kissed the inside of my palm.

The pads of each of my fingers.

"Maura," she says once more. "Please look at me."

My chin is trembling and it I'm struggling to keep them closed.

"_Please_," she begs.

The urgency in her voice, the desperation, shocks me.

I open up.

Flutter awake.

Look at her.

Green eyes into brown.

I hear her let go of a breath and suck one in quickly.

She is everything.

"Jane," her name from my lips feels like coming home.

In a moment she is melting into me and I am holding.

God, all I want to do is hold her.

"It's okay," I whisper.

Her head is tucked into the hollow of my shoulder, her arms encircling the largest current part of me.

"I'm sorry," she begs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"

I smooth her hair, tie it back with the elastic on my wrist.

"It's okay," I say once more. "It's okay. We're okay."

She cries into my shoulder and I talk in her ear and everything I know is this moment.

Everything I know and everything that I ever will be is right now.

Right here.

I feel like I have been training my whole life for this.

For when she finally lets go.

For the moment she unravels and comes apart and is in need.

And I am here.

I am ready.

"Let it out," I breathe into her. "Let go of it."

And she does.

All of it.

* * *

There is a knock at the door.

The blonde woman pokes her head in.

"Excuse me, but theres someone out here who is anxious to see you, Dr. Isles."

I nod. "You can send her in."

Jane sits up from her position in my neck and wipes her eyes.

Looks at me.

"She's going to freak out." She says.

I nod.

Try to smile.

Fail.

"I know." I respond.

I brush the back of my hand over her forehead and push away the stray hairs that lay there.

"Nothing to worry about." I say. I can hear my own voice shaking. I know she hears it too. "It's all going to be fine."

Then the door pushes open and there is Angela.

Angela, the ball of anxiety.

Angela, the one person in my life who is so steady but so painfully _unsteady_.

"Maura," she says my name as if she might break it. "Maura, what's going on."

I look at Jane and she looks at me.

"Come," I say. "Come sit with us."

She comes close and perches on the side of my bed.

She looks down at me like I am some precious metal.

She holds her palm to my cheek.

"You're warm." she looks frightened.

I press into her hand.

It feels good.

The coolness of it.

"I'm in labor."

Her eyes flash open.

Wide.

Confused.

"_What_," her words are quiet, but theres no hiding the uncertainty behind them.

"My water broke about half an hour ago."

I feel Jane lace her fingers through mine.

They squeeze.

"But it's too early." She breathes.

I shake my head. "Babies are born at 30 weeks all the time."

She sits back, hands over her chest. She opens her mouth to begin to speak but I stop her. "Angela, please."

I hear myself as a third party and suddenly realize how scared I sound.

How little.

"I just need you to be here, okay?"

She nods.

I smile up at her.

Not so much a smile but its a start.

She smiles back.

And I love her for it.

Suddenly I feel the dull throbbing of something ugly starting in the base of my stomach.

All at once it is tearing through me, ripping me from the inside.

My eyes water and my fists clench and through gritted teeth I release a noise that I didn't even know I had the ability to create.

Contractions.

I am having a contraction.

Both women have stood up from my bed and are now near me.

Beside me.

Jane, to my right, staring at me with a mixture of fear and bewilderment on her face.

Angela, to my left, holding my hand and mumbling something over an over.

It's been 23 seconds.

I count them in my head.

23 seconds that feel like 23 hours.

They might as well have been

Slowly the feeling subsides and I am left raw.

My body shakes.

I am so tired.

I stare up at the ceiling and let Jane brush my hair off my shoulders.

I thank her quietly and look beside me to where Angela is staring at me.

"Ma," Jane starts. "Ma, really. I got this."

I can tell that the older woman is scared.

She is freaking out, for lack of a better term.

And I wish I could do something to fix that.

To sooth her like she has soothed me so many times.

But I can't.

And this is happening.

I look at her and she looks at me and I wait.

I wait for her to say whatever it is that's sitting on her tongue.

Jane looks between the both of us, waiting for something to happen.

And then it's there.

Her voice is so quiet.

So childlike.

And it startles me.

"Are you scared?"

My breath stops in my throat.

I close my eyes to try and stop the tears that are so close.

So threatening.

"Yes," I whisper.

_Yes._

* * *

**I have no idea how I feel about this.**  
**I hope it satisfied you.**  
**Thank you for holding on for so long.**  
**You are all beautiful people.**

**Blessings**  
**O**


End file.
